


My Blue Heaven

by Beth H (bethbethbeth)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little spooky, Aziraphale and Crowley have a cottage, Children of Characters, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2019, Heather - Original Character, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethbethbeth/pseuds/Beth%20H
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley had both been surprisingly content since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t.Perhaps too content.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55
Collections: 2019 Good Omens Holiday Exchange, Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2019





	My Blue Heaven

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_"You'll see a smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room_  
A little nest that nestles where those roses bloom"  
-[My Blue Heaven](https://youtu.be/25Ik6jNR5YA)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been nineteen years, seven months, and four days since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t.

Quite a bit of time as humans measure it, but for angels - fallen and otherwise - it should have felt like little more than a drop in the proverbial bucket.

However.

For one particular 6,000 year old angel - Aziraphale - and his not-so-demonic counterpart Crowley, the years had seemed to pass no more swiftly than they did for humans, affording them more than enough time for all manner of non-celestial activities, chief amongst which were deciding they’d had quite enough, thanks very much, of living apart; then selling the Soho bookshop that had been in the angel’s possession for many, many years, selling the flat in London that had been owned by Crowley for a far less, but a not insignificant amount of time, and finally using the proceeds to purchase a cottage on the outskirts of a small hamlet in Wiltshire.

Later, there had also been time to cultivate a flourishing garden, full of a rich array of the most beautiful flowers, many of which were neither native to England nor particularly suited to its climate, but which grew willingly enough, nonetheless.

Aziraphale had, at one point, experimented with a home vegetable garden, but quite inexplicably, everything he planted turned into runner beans in the end.

Had Aziraphale and Crowley ever had visitors, it is likely those visitors would have commented on how much roomier the cottage was on the inside than it had seemed from the outside, but the truth was, the only visitors the two would have ever have considered inviting round, lived less than a half hour’s drive into the next county, and for one reason or another, it was always Aziraphale and Crowley who regularly offered to make the trip.

Or, at least, they had for the first years of their shared post-Apocalyptic lives.

More recently, they’d found themselves keeping closer to home, with only Crowley occasionally raising the question of whether they might be keeping rather _too_ close to home - and for too long a time.

"I mean to say, Aziraphale...I don’t think either of us have been further afield recently than Sainsbury’s, and _that_ was at least a half year ago."

"They were having a particularly good sale on chocolate oranges, my dear."

"That’s not the point, angel," Crowley said, just barely keeping from rolling his eyes. "You and I are still able to travel to other planes of existence, to far flung galaxies, to...to Tokyo, but where do we go instead? Bloody Sainsbury’s."

Aziraphale pursed his lips slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Don’t let me stop you from gallivanting to other planes of existence."

"Oh for...somebody’s sake. You know I have no interest in gallivanting without you."

A small smile crept onto Aziraphale’s face.

"But...doesn’t it all seem a bit odd?"

Aziraphale frowned. "Honestly, I hadn’t even considered it might be odd. We’re...Crowley, we’re happy here, aren’t we?"

"Of course we are!"

"I thought we had everything we needed, right here."

"We do, Aziraphale. But it’s been ages since we’ve seen Anathema and Newt’s family, to say nothing of Adam and Heather and the children."

"I happen to know you correspond with Adam quite regularly, using the electronic post."

"E-mail."

"Well, yes...whatever it likes to call itself. You know I’ve never been one to keep up with all the modern developments."

"Modern?" Crowley sputtered. "Email’s decades old, Aziraphale. Nobody under the age of forty even uses email these days unless they're writing to a pair of old maiden aunts."

"Adam's under forty, and he uses email."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, then languidly indicated Aziraphale and himself. 

"We're not technically his relatives," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley raised his eyebrows further. 

"Oh fine, what did the boy have to say?"

"Quite a lot of things over the past year or so, Aziraphale. He invited us to their housewarming party. Out to supper with his family. On a picnic with Anathema and Newt...."

"You don’t even like picnics."

"Well, of course I don’t." Crowley said, exasperation plain in his voice. "But he’s one of the very few people with whom we’ve shared, well...you know, _things_ ," he said, waving his hands meaningfully.

"Has he said anything that worried you recently?"

"No," said Crowley slowly. "Well, not that I’d know, since I haven’t actually looked at his last three emails."

"Why-ever not?"

"Why not? Because I...fine, maybe because for some reason I’m finding it uncomfortable to keep turning down his invitations. No idea why. Or maybe I’ve just forgot to look. Perhaps I’ve been coming down with something?"

"We don’t _come down with things_ , my dear," Aziraphale said gently. "I suspect you’re right...that you’ve just been worrying you might be hurting his feelings."

"Ridiculous. Demons don’t worry about hurt feelings."

"No, of course not," Aziraphale said, patting his partner’s shoulder. "Let’s look at his last letters together, shall we?"

"Are you patronizing me?" Crowley grumbled.

"Just a bit."

"Long as you admit it. All right, come along...maybe there’ll be an invitation to one of his children's birthday parties. I’m sure Adam would appreciate a chance to see your magic act."

Aziraphale sniffed. "Oh well, it appears the shoe’s on the other patronizing foot now, isn’t it?"

Crowley smirked, but before Aziraphale could get into a proper strop, Crowley kissed him on the cheek. "Come on, angel...let’s take a look."

The ancient desktop booted up, and Crowley opened his email program, clicking on the first of Adam’s most recent messages.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. "There's some sort of problem with the children? What could it...open up the next email."

Crowley skimmed the second note. "Okay, look...Adam said here, ‘ We can't take then round to their pediatrician; she absolutely wouldn't know how to handle it.’"

"But _what_ wouldn’t their doctor know how to handle? Their children are just...children, aren’t they? Nothing celestial in their make-up?"

"I don’t know, do I? The last time we saw them - when _was_ the last time we saw them? - they looked like human children. No strange appendages, no scales, horns or barbed tails, no halos...."

"Angels don’t _have_ halos, as you know full well."

"Yes, well...your lot could have started to grow halos recently; I don’t know! In any case, Adam seems worried. Mind you, it was probably nothing, but...what if it _wasn’t_ nothing? If there’s something he isn't comfortable discussing with the doctor, then maybe...."

"We could get someone to pop ‘round, just to see that everything’s all right. Maybe Madame Tracy and Shadwell could...."

"Don’t be daft, Aziraphale. They moved up to Sunderland back in...I don’t know when, but they’re in an assisted living facility."

"When did they leave London? Didn’t we just see them...when _did_ we see them last?"

Crowley frowned, then said, "Eight years ago? Could it _be_ eight years ago?"

"Surely not." For a moment, Aziraphale was silent, then he asked hesitantly, "Are we certain they’re still among the living?"

"Of course they are!"

"But how would we _know_? Eight years, Crowley. You say it’s been eight years."

"Stop it, angel. Even if something had happened to them, Adam would have let us know."

"But _how_ would he have let us know? You said you haven’t been checking the computer for messages, and...Crowley? When was the last time we used the telephone? I can’t even remember the last time the telephone rang."

Crowley frowned again. "But you remember everything, Aziraphale."

"Do I though? Because that outing we took to Sainsbury’s six months ago? I’m no longer certain we actually went there so very recently."

"What are you saying?"

"I don’t _know_ what I’m saying!" Aziraphale replied anxiously. "Crowley...wasn’t there one last message from Adam you hadn’t yet read?"

"Yes, I’ll just...don’t panic, Aziraphale."

"Wrong universe, my dear."

Despite an increasing sense of trepidation, as if Holy Water was about to start dripping on him from the ceiling, Crowley smiled at Aziraphale, then started to read through the most recent email.

The smile dropped from his face.

"This is...not good."

Aziraphale nibbled on his bottom lip, then shook his head. "No, Crowley...it’s not. But it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know anything about demonic genetics - frankly, I didn’t know that genetics were relevant to demons any more than they were relevant to angels - but even if the little wing bumps on the children’s backs and the horn bumps on their heads…."

"We don’t _have_ horns! Only Satan has horns!"

"I know," said Aziraphale, taking Crowley’s hands in his own. "But even if those little bumps were an indication that Adam’s demonic side was manifesting in his children, the angelic glowing would make absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"But Satan's those poor blighters' grandfather - technically - and he _was_ an angel!"

"Of course he was, my dear, but he’s no longer an angel, so...."

"Does it matter? Either way, we’re back to genetics. Maybe Adam’s passed on a recessive angelic gene to his children or something. I don't know."

"Surely not, but...."

Whatever Aziraphale was about to say, died in its tracks.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, and the only sound in the cottage was the inexorable ticking of the antique grandfather clock.

"But what, Aziraphale?"

"I haven’t the faintest idea, my dear. But I think we need to pay a visit to Lower Tadfield."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ordinarily the trip to Adam’s home would have taken almost no time at all - quite _literally_ no time at all if Aziraphale and Crowley opted to fly rather than take the Bentley - but this was no ordinary day.

To begin with, Crowley was finding it extremely difficult to manifest his wings, something that had been instinctual from the moment of his creation. He’d _almost_ been able to do it a few times - had come quite close - but each time he tried, he’d been thwarted by an odd sort of pressure as if a pair of massive hands were pushing against his shoulder blades.

"I don’t know _why_ they’re not working, angel, but they’re absolutely _not_ working. Let’s see how you get on."

Aziraphale got on quite well indeed, so much so that he almost looked a bit sheepish when his wings - bright, white, and beautifully groomed - appeared instantaneously.

"Well...I’ll be," Aziraphale said.

Crowley grimaced. "Don’t pretend you’re not proud of your ability to bring forth your wings so easily, especially on a day when I appear to be suffering from some kind of...manifestation dysfunction."

"Proud? Oh, I shouldn’t think so," Aziraphale said, false modesty oozing from his pores. "Pride, Crowley, as I’m certain you remember, is one of the seven deadly sins."

"Mmm, so’s sloth, Aziraphale, and yet you seem to have adapted to that particular sin well enough."

"Speaking of the seven deadly sins...envy, Crowley?"

"Whatever," Crowley grumbled. "I think we’re losing sight of our purpose. I don’t suppose you can ferry both of us to Lower Tadfield?"

"Easily done!"

It was not easily done.

"I haven’t a clue what’s wrong, Crowley. I _should_ be able to take you with me."

"Just as I should be able to manifest my wings, and yet...."

"And yet."

"Listen, why don’t you go to Adam’s ahead of me, and I’ll follow behind in the Bentley. I’m beginning to think time is of the essence."

"I’m beginning to think so as well.

And that plan - while not ineffable - would have been a good one if it weren’t for the fact that Aziraphale, visible wings notwithstanding, couldn’t seem to fly.

"You’ve...forgotten how to fly?"

"I wouldn’t say I’ve forgotten, as such," Aziraphale replied, "I may be rusty, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me, like riding a bicycle."

"Something _else_ you don’t know how to do," said Crowley. "All right... the Bentley it is, then. I’ll meet you at the car in five minutes."

Crowley buttoned his jacket, and went out to the drive to smoke a cigarette while he waited for Aziraphale, who always seemed to have _just one last thing_ to take care of before setting off on any journey.

Five minutes passed, then another five minutes, and still no Aziraphale. When fifteen minutes had passed, Crowley went back into the cottage to see what had been keeping the angel, but the answer was - apparently - nothing, as Aziraphale was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea.

"Angel?"

"Yes? Oh dear...I was supposed to meet you at the car, wasn’t I? I have no idea where my head’s at today. Why don’t you go back outside, and I’ll be with you in a moment."

Crowley frowned. "No, you know... I think I’d better wait here for you to get ready."

"Really no need, my dear, but thank you, all the same." Aziraphale took the blue and cream scarf from the coat rack, tied it around his neck, and smiled at Crowley. "All set."

However, as it turned out, Aziraphale wasn’t all set - not entirely. 

He changed his scarf three times, collected the mobile phone he’d never actually activated "just in case" and placed it in his jacket pocket, then went back to the kitchen and put an unopened packet of milk chocolate Hobnobs into a carrier bag because they were Adam’s wife Heather’s favorites.

"All set," Aziraphale said for the sixth time in as many minutes, as he opened the front door. "Come along, Crowley."

Crowley followed Aziraphale outside, waited for Aziraphale to settle himself in the passenger side of the Bentley, then got in behind the wheel. There was nothing that should have stopped him from setting off at this point. The Bentley needed neither petrol to go, nor a key to start, and Crowley hadn’t forgotten anything inside the cottage, except....

" _Best of Queen_."

"Pardon?"

"The cassette tapes are still on the coffee table where I left them after our trip to Sainsbury’s...we did _go_ to Sainsbury’s, didn’t we? I’m sure we decided we had, yes? Anyway...off I go. Won’t be two ticks."

As each 'tick' passed, Aziraphale became more and more certain that there was something in the cottage that he absolutely needed to do, except...hadn’t he been just as certain about that when he _was_ inside, and it turned out that the most important thing he had to do was fetch some biscuits? Still, what if he was wrong? What if there _was_ something important inside. Perhaps he’d just pop in for a moment, just to check. 

He unlocked his door and was halfway out of the car, when Crowley returned.

"Going somewhere, angel?"

"I thought...Crowley, something is terribly wrong. Something is trying to keep us from Adam’s children."

Crowley blinked. "I wonder if that’s why…" He looked down at the cassette tape in his hand.

"What’s that, my dear? It doesn’t look like _Best of Queen_."

"It was while I was inside," Crowley replied slowly. "But now, somehow, it’s transformed itself into a mixtape with…sixteen recordings of 'Never Gonna Give You Up,' one after another."

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, in the sort of commanding voice that the angel hadn’t had any cause to use for years. "Get into the car, and start driving."

Crowley did.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It usually only took 25 minutes to drive to Lower Tadfield, but those 25 minutes increased to 45 as Crowley pulled over to the side of the road four times, each time arguing that he felt something was very wrong with the car and they shouldn’t keep driving. If he hadn’t learned to trust Aziraphale so very much over the centuries, he wouldn’t have been so quick to accept the angel’s continued pleas to keep going.

Aziraphale, for his part, remembered no less than a dozen things he’d left back at the cottage, but each time he felt the urge to ask Crowley to turn the car around and head back, he could hear Crowley’s rapid breathing and saw his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel even though Aziraphale knew full well that the Bentley was more than capable of driving itself.

Finally they arrived.

Crowley pulled up in front of Adam’s house, and before the Bentley had come to a complete stop, Aziraphale was out of the car - Hobnobs in hand - and heading toward the front door, with Crowley only a few steps behind him.

Even before they had a chance to knock, Adam - wearing a sweater vest and corduroy trousers, and looking even more old-fashioned than Aziraphale tended to look - opened the door, and both angel and demon entered the house.

"We came as soon as we could," said Aziraphale, rather breathlessly.

"I know," Adam said. "And...."

"We’re sorry that it took so long," Crowley interrupted. "I mean, I am _so_ incredibly sorry that I didn’t read your emails in time."

Adam shook his head. "Crowley, honestly...it’s fine. Neither of you did anything wrong."

"But...your emails!"

Aziraphale gasped. "Crowley, we’re too late!"

Crowley turned in the direction Aziraphale was pointing. Adam’s two oldest children - both with very distinct horn buds on their foreheads - were sitting quietly on the floor, leaning back against the bookcase, while the youngest, dressed only in a pair of pull-up nappies, lay on a green and yellow duvet, a pair of tiny wings - pin feathers just starting to come in - clearly visible on her back. 

All three children were completely silent, and all three were glowing with the gentle light of newly created angels.

"I don’t think they even know we’re here, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered.

"Well no," Adam interjected. "They don’t, but there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that."

If this had all been a Christmas pantomime, Crowley and Aziraphale might have been expecting the back door to fly open at this precise moment and Anathema to dash through the kitchen and into the lounge, but as those sorts of perfectly timed entrances don’t often happen in real life, Aziraphale was extremely flustered by Anathema’s arrival.

(Crowley would never - in 6,000 years - admit to being "flustered" about anything, but not admitting to things doesn’t make them any less true)

"Thank goodness you’re back," Adam said. "I take it everything went well?"

"Yes, everything’s sorted out, no thanks to you. Newt and the girls are going to be here soon, but you were so worried, I thought I'd better come back straight away." 

"I wouldn’t say _worried_ precisely, just...."

"Anathema," Crowley said. "Do _you_ know what’s wrong with the children?"

She turned to take a quick look at the kids, then huffed with exasperation. "Adam Young, you are such an unmitigated jerk."

Crowley expected Adam to say something in response, but it looked like Adam was far too busy trying not to laugh to actually form a reply to Anathema.

"Honestly, it's like you're still an eleven year old. And _you_ two," Anathema said, turning back to face Aziraphale and Crowley. "Not that I generally approve of victim blaming, but in this case, I'm making an exception. Have you two lost all your powers of observation?"

It was as if a veil had suddenly been lifted from Aziraphale and Crowley’s eyes, because when they turned around and looked again at Adam’s children, what they saw instead was a trio of simulacra. Cleverly formed, wonderfully true-to-life, but little more than mannequins.

"Are _either_ of you," Aziraphale said snippily, "planning on telling us what the Hell is going on here?"

"You haven’t told them anything yet?" Anathema asked.

"Haven’t had time, have I? They literally just arrived before you returned from their cottage."

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances. 

"Anathema’s been to our cottage?" Aziraphale asked. "I’m sorry, I really must insist that…."

But before Aziraphale could finish insisting _anything_ , the back door flew open again, and Adam’s wife Heather and their three children walked through the kitchen and into the lounge.

"Hello sweetheart."

"Hullo, Dad!"

"Hi Daddy!"

"Hello to you all. How was the panto, my babies?"

"We're not babies, Dad!" said the oldest of the three. "Well, except for this one here," she said, pointing to her baby sister, fast asleep in her mum's arms. "And the play was brilliant...real magic and everything!"

Heather passed Adam their sleeping child and slipped out of her jacket. 

"Crowley and Aziraphale," she said with a smile. "It's lovely to see both of you after so long a time." When neither celestial being replied, she shared a look with Anathema, who pointed toward the simulacrums on the floor.

"Oh good lord," Heather said, turning back to her husband, "It seems that our friends aren't quite so pleased to be here as we might have wished, and it's rather clear why that's the case. I'm going to take the children up to get changed and let you fix whatever you bolloxed up. And Adam? Get rid of those creepy dolls."

"Heather."

"Nope, not listening. Fix things, Adam. Come along, children," she said, reclaiming her baby from the arms of her husband.

"Mum," her son said. "Is Daddy in trouble?"

"With any luck, he won't be by the time we come back downstairs. All right, scoot, you lot."

Moments after Heather and the children left the room, the back door flew open for the third - and hopefully the last - time that afternoon, ushering in Newt with the Pulsifer-Device twins.

"Hello, my darlings," said Anathema. "Would you mind going upstairs to play with Henry and Kate for just a bit?"

"We’ll go upstairs...." said twin one, already a quarter of the way up the stairs.

"Because we know there are grown-up issues...." said twin two, halfway up the stairs.

"And grown-up issues are rather _boring_...."

"But we want to play with the baby."

"April’s asleep," said Heather, slipping past the twins on her way down the stairs, "but you can play with her later. Up you go. Hello, Newt."

"Heather. All. So...am I sensing a bit of an atmosphere?"

Adam grimaced. "I've got myself into trouble, apparently."

Crowley nodded to Newt. "He knows what he's done."

Heather patted her husband on the shoulder, then waved Newt and Anathema into the kitchen. "We'll be back when the fallout from the _current_ apocalypse settles. Aziraphale, Crowley, would either of you like a cup of tea."

"Yes, please," they said in unison.

"Try to sort things out before the kettle boils," Heather said. "And Adam? Use your words."

"So," said Adam, before pausing to think about what to say next.

"I think you'll have to do better than that," said Crowley.

"Yes, of course. Um...take a seat, both of you. So...it's actually a rather funny misunderstanding."

"Whatever's going on doesn't seem particularly amusing to me, Adam Young."

"No, no...of course not." Adam squeezed the bridge of his nose, then sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing Aziraphale and Crowley. "Anyway, short version...when the two of you seemed to be getting together, everybody was pleased. The Them and I, Anathema and Newt, Madame Tracy - who'd apparently been shipping the two of you since the day of the body exchange - even Shadwell, who approved of you both once he realized that neither of you were, in any true sense, Southerners."

"Lovely as it is to hear how popular we were...."

"What Aziraphale's trying to say, Adam, is get bloody on with it."

"Right," Adam said. "Well, anyway, everything seemed to be fine for quite a long time, and then Aziraphale sold the bookstore. So you see, we worried."

"I see," Aziraphale said. "No, no I don't actually see. What about selling the bookstore caused any of you to worry."

"It wasn't just the bookstore. It was selling Crowley's flat, and moving to the middle of nowhere. It was all the runner beans you kept sending to everybody."

"Goodness, Adam, if you didn't want any more runner beans, you could have just said so."

Adam shook his head. "It wasn't the runner beans, precisely. It was...neither of you had anywhere else to go. You'd cut your ties with Heaven and with Hell and, even more importantly, with London, where you'd both lived for ages. And Aziraphale...there'd never been an angel and demon before who'd, well...set up housekeeping, let's say. Not in all of eternity. There'd never even been a pair of angels who'd...."

"Set up housekeeping?" said Crowley with a smirk.

"Listen, this isn't easy to talk about. It's like discussing the birds and the bees with your parents." 

A brief shiver ran down Adam's back, and Crowley somehow knew that Adam was remembering having had that very discussion with his mum when he was thirteen.

"Demons have been known to...let's just say we've been known to set up partnerships."

"Yes," said Adam, "and in every single instance, one or both of the demons ended up dead. I've done my research, Crowley."

"Oh, my dear," said Aziraphale, clutching Crowley's hand.

"He's not wrong, angel."

Adam nodded. "And so, you see...we were worried. You were trying something that had never been done in all of eternity with no bolt holes to run to should things go badly."

"And the fact that Aziraphale and I have thousands of years more experience than all you lot together didn't occur to any of you?"

Adam looked down at his hands. "Honestly...no."

"All right, so the nine of you plotted to...."

"Eight!" Heather shouted from the kitchen. "I had no part in any of this idiocy."

"The _eight_ of you plotted to...what?"

"Well, actually," Adam said quietly, "it was originally Anathema's idea."

"I can hear you," Anathema shouted from the kitchen. "My idea was perfectly fine, as you well know."

"Yes, yes...her idea was fine. We just wanted the two of you to be happy, you know?"

"Which is a lovely sentiment," Aziraphale said. "But what is it you actually _did_."

"Heather?" Adam called. "Is that tea ready yet?"

"You're not getting out of this conversation that easily, husband."

"Dammit. All right, after some discussion, Anathema stopped by your home while you were on holiday and cast some tiny little spells: clearing the cottage of negative energy, blessings on the garden - except for the vegetables, apparently - contentment, the cottage as a site of love, no place like home - those sorts of things."

Aziraphale frowned. "While we absolutely should have been consulted, I can't see why any of those spells should have caused any trouble."

"No," Adam said sheepishly. "They wouldn't have been a problem, except that a few days later, somebody else went down to the cottage and reinforced the spells, just in case."

"And that 'somebody' was you."

"I'm afraid so."

"And since you - when you set your mind to it - are possibly the second strongest force in the universe...."

"I had good intentions, but...."

Crowley shook his head. "But you ended up using those good intentions to pave the road to my former home."

"Yeah. The cottage should have been a place of love and safety, and instead, it ended up being almost a prison, making you think you'd left the cottage when you hadn't done so, discouraging you both from traveling, or even thinking about anybody except each other. It all progressed so slowly that it was almost impossible for you to notice it was happening, and for those of us on the outside, well, let's just say that if it hadn't been for Anathema, none of us would have figured out what was going on until it was entirely too late. We tried to get you to come visit...."

"All those invitations, Crowley...and we turned them all down."

"We rang the house, we knocked on the door, and neither of you ever seemed to notice you had callers. So finally we started sending worrying messages about the children, hoping that would drag you out of doors so Anathema could enter your home and remove my spell reinforcements without drawing any defense responses from the cottage."

Aziraphale nodded. "Thankfully that worked, but Adam...why were you able to keep communicating by email when we couldn't even hear a knock on the door."

"Not a clue, honestly!"

Crowley laughed. "Why do I feel you're about to say the word 'ineffable,' angel?"

"You're not amusing, Crowley."

"Oh come on, admit it; I'm absolutely amusing."

"I won't admit anything of the sort."

"You'd admit it if we were alone."

"I most certainly would not. In fact, if we...."

"All right, gentlemen and ridiculous husband-of-mine," Heather said, setting a tea tray down on the coffee table. "Let's try not to undo all the contentment and love the spells built up over the years. Adam, can you see about getting the children down to join us."

"Will do," said Adam, relieved to have an excuse to flee the room.

"Anathema." Heather called, as she walked toward the kitchen. "The coast's clear. You and Newt can come back into the lounge."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Left by themselves for the moment on the sofa, Aziraphale and Crowley sat, holding hands as they'd been doing for the past ten minutes.

"It'll be nice to travel again, lunch at the Ritz, maybe see a play or two, but...you don't suppose," Crowley said hesitantly, "that with all the spell strengthening removed, we won't...well, you know, feel like we...."

"Oh _no_ , my dear Crowley," said Aziraphale quietly. "You must know that we...that even before the spells, that we, well, felt so...."

"That we loved each other?"

"Yes," said Aziraphale, smiling gently at Crowley. 

"And we were happy, just to be together?"

"We _are_ happy, my dear."

Crowley rubbed the knuckles on Aziraphale's right hand with his thumb. "Yeah, we are. And we _do_ love each other," he said quietly. 

Then he laughed. "The jury's still out on our idiotic friends though."


End file.
